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aspenmissing · 3 days ago

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ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴀᴛ ɪᴛꜱ ꜰɪɴᴇꜱᴛ

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ꜰᴇᴀᴛ. ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ) || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 3074 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟᴀʙᴏᴜʀ (ɴᴏ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟꜱ), ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ʙᴀʙʏ, ᴄᴜᴛᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀʟᴏᴀᴅ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜱᴏɴ, ᴇʟɪᴀꜱ, ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴏʀ. ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴇʟɪᴀꜱ'ꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴘꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴅᴀʏ ᴀᴛ ɴᴜʀꜱᴇʀʏ, ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ɢʀᴏᴡꜱ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇʀ, ᴄʜᴇʀɪꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ꜰᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛɪᴇꜱ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 || ᴘᴀʀᴛ 3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴇʟɪᴀꜱ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ

When the day finally came, you were in the lab with Viktor. He was focused on his work, the rhythmic sound of his tools providing a soothing background melody as you lounged nearby, flipping through a book. The quiet was suddenly interrupted by a sharp sensation, and then a warmth spreading beneath you. For a moment, you both froze, staring at each other in wide-eyed shock.

“He’s early,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice tinged with equal parts awe and panic.

Viktor’s gaze darted from you to the growing puddle on the floor, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words. Before either of you could act, Jayce burst into the room, his usual exuberance filling the space.

“Did you two spill something again?” he teased, grinning, until his eyes caught the scene before him—your shocked expression, Viktor’s stunned silence, and the unmistakable evidence on the floor.

The color drained from his face as realization hit him. “Oh... oh no. Uh... I’ll get help! Hang on!” Jayce practically tripped over himself as he spun around and bolted out the door.

Moments later, amidst the chaos, Viktor helped you to your feet, his hands trembling slightly as he steadied you. The rush to the infirmary was a blur, and soon after, your son made his entrance into the world—weeks earlier than expected but healthy and strong.

When you finally held him in your arms, Viktor was right there by your side, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He sat beside you on the bed, his cane resting against it, his posture still and attentive, as though he feared disturbing the moment. His hands, steady despite the overwhelming emotion coursing through him, reached out, and with a reverence that made your heart swell, he cradled the tiny, squirming bundle.

"Hello, můj syn," he whispered, his voice cracking. (My son.) His thumb brushed gently over the baby’s soft cheek. "Welcome to the world."

The softness in his gaze wasn’t new—it was something you had come to recognize over the years, a quiet tenderness that had grown in him, evolving beyond his once-obsessive focus on his work, his innovations, and his ambitions. But seeing it now, as he cradled your son in his arms, it was different. It was deeper, more profound, as if the very essence of his being had shifted to make room for this fragile new life you had both brought into the world. His fingers traced the curve of your son’s tiny hand with such care, as though memorizing every detail, every precious moment, imprinting it into his heart.

The cane beside him, usually a symbol of his struggles and limitations, now seemed utterly irrelevant in the face of this new, beautiful reality. With every gentle shift, every tender movement of your son in his arms, Viktor seemed to shed the weight of everything else, becoming more at peace than you had ever seen him. This was the culmination of everything—the love, the pain, the trials—and it all led to this perfect moment. Together, you had built a family, and in this instant, nothing else mattered.

A day later, when the world had settled into a calm stillness, there came a soft knock at the door—a gentle tap, as if Jayce had been waiting for the perfect moment to intrude. He had given you both time, knowing how important it was for new parents to bond with their child before the rest of the world returned to reality.

The door creaked open just a little, and Jayce stepped inside, a quiet smile on his face. His eyes went immediately to your son, swaddled snugly in your arms, sleeping peacefully. He stepped closer, carrying a bundle of balloons in one hand, the bright colours a cheerful contrast to the soft tones of the room. In his other hand, he held a small teddy bear, its round face friendly and inviting.

“I thought it might be time to finally say hello,” Jayce said softly, his voice low and respectful of the serene moment you were all sharing. He puts the balloons in the corner of my room - the weight keeping them from flying around, before he walks quietly over to you, gently placing his hand on your arm, his gaze never leaving the tiny form in your arms. "Looks like he’s already got you both wrapped around his little finger.”

Viktor, who had been watching Jayce with a quiet appreciation, nodded slightly, but words weren’t necessary. The soft smile that crossed Viktor's face said everything.

Jayce reached over, lightly touching the teddy bear to your son's tiny hand, the gesture soft and filled with a kind of tenderness that matched the moment. “He’s perfect,” Jayce said, his voice barely a whisper, as if he didn’t want to disturb the fragile stillness of the room.

Viktor sat back slightly, his gaze never leaving the tiny bundle in your arms. There was a thoughtful pause before he broke the silence, his voice soft but warm.

“You know, Jayce…” Viktor began, his tone slightly teasing yet sincere. “If you’re interested, you’re welcome to hold him. He’s certainly not as intimidating as some of the machines you’ve built.”

Jayce hesitated, glancing from Viktor to the little one in your arms. His eyes flickered with uncertainty, and for a moment, you wondered if he might decline, still unsure of this delicate moment. But Viktor’s calm presence and your own gentle nod of encouragement seemed to reassure him.

You smiled, offering a soft, welcoming gesture. “It’s alright, Jayce. We’d love for you to hold him. He’d probably love meeting his uncle”

Jayce stood quietly for a moment, the uncertainty lingering in his gaze, before he slowly nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He moved toward the chair beside your bed and sat down, his posture a little stiff but intent. Viktor gently lifted the swaddled baby from your arms, his movements slow and careful as he passed your son over to Jayce.

Jayce cradled the baby in his arms, his expression softening as he gazed down at the tiny, peaceful face. The tension in his shoulders relaxed, and a genuine warmth spread across his features. His eyes flickered up to Viktor and then back down to the newborn.

“So,” Jayce asked after a moment, his voice a little hushed in reverence. “What’s the name of the next great inventor?”

You and Viktor shared a look, a silent understanding passing between you both. Neither of you had quite expected this moment to feel so emotional, but there it was, the question hanging in the air, waiting for an answer.

With a gentle smile, you spoke, your voice filled with warmth and pride. “His name is Elias Jayce.”

Jayce froze, his eyes widening in shock. He glanced between you and Viktor, as though trying to grasp the full weight of the name. He blinked a couple of times, his breath catching in his throat. “Wait, what?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “Elias... Jayce? Did I hear that right?”

You repeated it, this time with a soft chuckle, “Yes, Elias Jayce.”

The room was quiet for a beat before Jayce’s eyes welled up with tears, his lips trembling as he cradled little Elias in the nook of his arm. His free hand rose to his face, wiping away the tears that had started to fall. The emotion overwhelmed him in a way he hadn't expected, and he allowed himself the rare moment of vulnerability.

“I'm... I’m honoured,” Jayce whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I never thought... never thought I’d have anything like this.” He blinked away more tears, his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. But the tears kept coming, a silent acknowledgment of the overwhelming love he felt in that moment.

Viktor, who had been watching Jayce with a quiet smile, gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve earned it, Jayce,” he said softly. “You’ve been a part of this journey from the beginning.”

With his other hand, Jayce wiped away the remaining tears, trying to regain his composure, but his eyes remained moist, his focus still on the little life in his arms. He didn’t speak again for a while, lost in the moment, and you and Viktor let him. It was a moment that needed no words—just the shared connection of love, family, and the bond between friends.

In the months that followed, your small home was filled with the soft, rhythmic sound of Elias’s breathing, the steady hum of the world outside, and the warmth of the little family you had built together. The first few weeks were nothing short of a whirlwind. Sleep was a distant memory, replaced with the sweet scent of baby lotion, the soothing lull of a rocking chair, and the sound of your quietly humming a tune while Elias lay in your arms.

There were nights when Elias would refuse to sleep, his cries filling the quiet room until, finally, exhausted, you both managed to calm him. One such night, after another hour of pacing and rocking, Viktor sighed, looking down at his son with an amused smile.

“He’s definitely mine,” Viktor said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “It’s as if he only wants to be awake when the sun is down.”

You chuckled, brushing your hand through your hair. “I’m starting to think he’s your son in more ways than one.”

Viktor’s lips quirked, and he laughed, the tiredness in his eyes replaced with a glimmer of affection. “Perhaps he’s a bit of a night owl, then. Like father, like son.”

As a year and a bit passes, those long nights gradually gave way to moments of light. Elias, a curious and active 1 and a half year old, began to explore the world around him. He took his first steps one crisp afternoon, his chubby legs wobbling with each movement. You were in the kitchen when it happened, your heart skipping a beat as you turned to see him standing on his own, a wobbly smile on his face.

“Elias,” you whispered, watching him take a shaky step, then another. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Viktor was right behind you, his eyes wide in disbelief. “He’s walking. He’s really walking.”

Elias took a few tentative steps, his little feet wobbling as he reached out for the nearby couch, his face lit up with concentration. But when he caught sight of you, he smiled, a joyful giggle escaping him as he took a few more steps forward.

You couldn’t help but gasp, watching in awe as your son wobbled but held steady on his own two feet.

Viktor’s gaze was fixed on him, his breath catching in his chest. For a moment, the room seemed to fade around him. He blinked, his fingers trembling slightly at his sides, as though his mind was processing what he was seeing.

“He’s walking,” Viktor repeated, his voice quieter this time, a note of awe in it. “But… he’s walking perfectly.”

You glanced at him, seeing the realization dawn on his face. Viktor stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Elias as he continued his little journey toward you. He was careful, slow, but every step seemed more confident than the last.

“His legs... they’re—” Viktor’s voice faltered, and for a moment, it seemed like he might not finish his sentence. “He’s… he’s not like me.”

You looked at Viktor, the weight of his words settling between you. He had always feared that his son would inherit the same struggles, the same deformities that had plagued him for years, making it difficult for him to walk, to move as freely as he wished. Yet here was Elias, barely more than a toddler, taking steps without hesitation, without the same limitations Viktor had learned to cope with.

Viktor’s breath caught in his throat as Elias reached toward him, his tiny arms outstretched in excitement, his face lighting up with a joyful grin.

Viktor froze for a moment, his heart thumping in his chest as he looked at his son, so small, so full of life. Slowly, as if the weight of the moment demanded it, Viktor sank to his knees, never breaking eye contact with Elias. The world seemed to pause, the air thick with emotion, as he opened his arms wide.

Elias giggled, his little feet shuffling excitedly as he toddled straight into his father’s embrace. Viktor caught him gently, pulling him into a tight hug, his heart soaring at the feel of his son in his arms. The sound of Elias’s laughter filled the room, a melody that Viktor would never tire of.

“You’re perfect,” Viktor whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his hands gently holding Elias as if he could hardly believe how real this moment was. The little boy squirmed in his father’s arms, eager to explore, but Viktor held him a little tighter, unwilling to let go of the quiet, precious moment they shared.

You watched them, your heart swelling with an overwhelming love for both of them. “He always would have been,” you replied softly, the words wrapped in warmth and tenderness, as you gazed at your son.

Elias, still nestled against Viktor’s chest, looked up at you with a wide, innocent grin, his eyes sparkling with pure joy. He let out a playful gurgle and reached for you, his tiny hands outstretched.

Chuckling, you crouched down, your arms open to him, and Elias immediately wriggled free from Viktor’s hold, eager to be in your arms. As you lifted him up, the three of you shared a quiet, sacred moment. The kind of silence that was heavy with unspoken love, the kind that filled the space between heartbeats.

Months pass and Elias, now 2 years old, spoke his first word. It wasn’t “mama” or “papa,” but “Viktor,” clear as day, as he reached out to his father one sunny morning, arms lifted high.

Both you and Viktor froze, staring at the boy in stunned silence.

“Did he just—” you began, but Viktor cut you off, his brows furrowed in disbelief.

“He said… my name?” Viktor echoed, his tone half awed, half puzzled. “Why would he—?”

Before you could respond, the door opened, and Jayce walked in with a bright grin and a bag of fresh pastries. “Good morning, favorite little genius!” he greeted Elias cheerfully. “Where’s Viktor, huh? Your papa’s the best, right?”

Both you and Viktor turned to Jayce, the realization dawning on you like a sunrise. Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something in Czech, while you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Jayce,” you said, pointing at the now-giggling Elias. “I think we’ve figured out why his first word is Viktor.”

Jayce blinked, confused for a moment, before his face broke into a sheepish grin. “Oh. Well, can you blame me? I mean, the kid’s got good taste.”

Viktor sighed dramatically, though his eyes shone with pride as he lifted Elias into his arms. “First words, and it’s my name. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I am rather impressive.”

Elias giggled, clutching his father’s shirt as Viktor kissed the top of his head. You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head at the both of them.

“Well, at least we know who to blame when his next word is ‘gear’ or ‘schematics,’” you teased, grinning at Jayce, who just laughed and shrugged.

But the biggest milestone came on the day Elias turned three. It was the day he went to nursery for the first time. The night before, you and Viktor had meticulously prepared everything—his tiny backpack, the lunch packed with love, and the first-day outfit that made him look far too grown-up for your liking. Elias was brimming with excitement, his wide, innocent grin lighting up the room as he bounced on his toes.

“Are you ready, love?” you asked, crouching down to his level to adjust the straps of his backpack.

“Ready!” Elias chirped, his voice filled with uncontainable joy.

The three of you stepped out together, Viktor leaning on his cane with practiced ease as he walked beside you. Elias darted ahead, his backpack bouncing with every enthusiastic step, but he always paused to look back, ensuring you and Viktor were keeping up.

When you finally arrived at the nursery, the bright colors of the building and the sound of children playing filled the air. Elias grabbed Viktor’s free hand, tugging him forward with a giddy laugh. Viktor chuckled softly, his steps slowing just slightly as they neared the door.

But as they stood there, with Elias peering up at the new adventure ahead, a strange look crossed Viktor’s face. His grip on his cane tightened, and his other hand gently ruffled Elias’s hair, as if committing this moment to memory.

“He’s growing up,” Viktor murmured, his voice low and tinged with emotion.

You glanced at him, noting the way his eyes glistened, and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s a good thing,” you reminded him gently. “He’s ready for this.”

“I know,” Viktor replied, blinking quickly as if to push the tears away. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

Elias turned to look up at Viktor, his small hand patting his father’s leg. “Papa, come on!” he urged, his innocent excitement drawing a soft laugh from you both.

With a deep breath, Viktor crouched slightly, his cane steadying him as he kissed Elias’s forehead. “You’ll do wonderfully, můj syn” he said quietly, his words thick with pride.

You smiled as Elias skipped through the nursery doors, his little wave goodbye filling your heart with both pride and a pang of longing. Viktor stood rooted to the spot for a moment, his eyes following Elias until he disappeared inside.

“He’ll be fine,” you said, leaning into Viktor slightly, your arm brushing his.

Viktor let out a quiet sigh, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I know. But I may need a moment.”

You chuckled softly, slipping your arm through his. “Come on. We’ll grab some tea and sit in the park. You can gush about how brilliant he’s going to be.”

As the two of you turned to leave, Viktor glanced back at the nursery doors one last time, his heart full of pride for the little family you had built together.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #Dad!Viktor #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane jayce #arcane jayce talis

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ryuzakemo128 · 23 days ago

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Who eats alone, dies alone.

Pairing: Poly141 x Outlaw! Female Reader Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not eat, kidnapping, murder, cheating, affairs, coercion to get sex and a 'family', reader is bisexual, tall and plus sized, misogyny, violence against women, violence, and other things that will make your stomach turn. Don't read if you're squeamish. word Count: 3074

Masterlist

Credit 4 Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

You weren’t a small.

You were tall.

You were never considered a pretty little young thing like the women you envied around you. The anger at your circumstances, at yourself, burned inside you like a furnace and the only thing to fuel your wrath was bloodshed.

You're useless, aren’t you if you can’t be like the surrounding women?

What use is your existence if you're scaring people away?

Your charm lured in a victim for your boss. But you didn’t care.

Your boss being a pretty young blonde with enough money to make the oil barons wish she was their wife.

You shot three people in order to get to your target, you didn’t even look at them.

The gun felt light in your hands, the three bodies dropped pretty quickly.

“Get in.” you ordered. Slamming the carriage door after getting in with him to deter from leaving. You pointed the gun in his direction, “I would hate for someone to get the wrong idea that we’re together.” you spoke in a low husky tone. The smell of his fear drifting to your nose. You might be enjoying this a little too much. Might.

You brought out the handcuffs and snapped them wright on his wrists. Your gloved fingers making sure he can’t simply run away without look too suspicious.

Ghost called out to Price whom was shooting at the caravan as it rode off into the dirt and dust. They got there far too late. Like they always do. Too late to make any kind of real proper change.

As soap looked around the medium-sized carriage for an escape route, “Sweetheart, Sugar, darlin. You’re goin no where. You’re stayin on that sweet arse of yours and accepting how things are for time bein.” You whispered into his ear.

“I don’t want this to become permanent. So I suggest you compose yourself. A lovely woman will make sure you’re well-fed and cared for. And you’ll be thankin the good lord for everything she is.” you winked at him. Right as the carriage bumped and jostled around along the uneven terrain.

Price saw you in person the following week with information on a new target. The one who took Johnny MacTavish. The same women who killed three men without a single sign of remorse in her eyes.

Finding none made his stomach drop.

His heart beats faster now.

He knew you. The woman kicked out from the church his parents always went to on a Sunday morning. He remembered how a man kicked you in the stomach until you coughed up blood from the blunt force to your stomach. Always kicking himself for never standing up for you.

Had he known you were forced to take this path alone, then. What would he have done?

Your mother eventually passed from a cancer which ate at her mind as well as her soul. Your father cheating on her with the maids inside your manor. He thought his amassed wealth would grant him a front row seat straight into heaven by the time he died. Not that he have ever personally read the actual thing himself. He knew a few proverbs and apparently it’s all he ‘needed’. To your poor mother’s dismay, who had actually read it in her youth.

Your eyes looked into his, a wall of steel and stone standing before him. Unlike the woman who was beaten by men just because she couldn’t control her sexuality. The faint scar along the left side of your jawline, a memory and a reminder that men could never be trusted.

Why did you take Soap so aggressively? So much show of power from someone in a short amount of time. It was like you were begging to be shot down.

But Price knew better than to take a book by its cover. He’s seen the same look in your eyes as the men he had taken to be his lovers years ago. The look of someone who had seen too much, felt too much pain, and was now numb to the world around them. Someone who could endure any amount of pain or punishment and keep coming back for more.

Price still speaks to your father. Not that he would admit this to your face. ‘A monster by association’ you would call him. Not like you would be completely wrong. But you wouldn’t be right at the same time. Though he knew you wouldn’t care for the complexities or details.

They’ve seen your type, your kind and your brood before. Thrown away like yesterday’s garbage. Thrown to the curb like you weren’t worth a damn thing. Not like you shown it on your face how much it bothered you. Not like you could get in somebody’s face and scream at them before. Not like you can now.

You never felt so free in your life.

A pity, things came to a head this way.

He didn’t want you dead. He wanted you to bring MacTavish back to them. But it was certainly clear you weren’t going to do to just that. Not like you could defy your boss’s orders in the way he desired you to. If you did, you would be on the streets again, and who was he to tell you to leave a home you found on your own?

Maddening to be sure. To be stuck between a rock and a hard place. You were making your own way to support yourself, your own way to bend the world to your own image and your own liking. Crafting it to your own whims and desires, like you enjoyed the thought of playing god to serve yourself alone.

Price had to regroup to the others. Before things got messy like it had last time. Three dead in the attempt to blockade you. Like a ram, you barrelled through like they weren’t worth a damn thing. Ruthless in your loyal servitude. A pity. It should have been him you were serving instead.

To have you bent over.

What a sight that would be.

But he knew your boss. The dinner party he’s invited to indicate as such.

Hoping he would be able to sneak Johnny out of there. While she played hostess to her dinner guests with a fake smile. One which never seemed to reach her eyes. A plastered, well-rehearsed smile which looked haunting if you knew sadistic ways. There wasn’t much he could do for him from this far away.

If you were there? It would be borderline impossible to get him out of that estate. No matter what. He couldn’t do a damn thing.

“If she’s there, we won’t be able to get him back, Kyle.” price protested, waving at the naive man’s suggestion. “She’s like a dog with a bone, relentless, tenacious, a loyal bloodhound. And I don’t think it’s the money keeping her loyal, either.”

He wasn’t wrong. You weren’t loyal to her for the money alone, were you? The money made things easier to swallow. Easy to deal with the eccentric nature of her whims of her sexual drive. You couldn’t be bothered to argue with the semantics of why you worked for her. The captives didn’t need to know. Anyone outside wouldn’t understand either.

Not in the ways you would have hoped to get. You would repent later. Repent tomorrow. But tomorrow is always one day away, and you were allergic to the thought of confession. To be brought to your knees because of something as fickle as truth. To escape the wooden pressures of the crucifix and sermons spoken from inside their little chapels won’t touch you again.

Not while you still live and breathe.

You were in the hands of a powerful woman married to an oil baron who was away for months at a time. Known for his thing for bringing in young mistresses to breed like some kind of rabid dog. You ignored how some woman would be paid to live there with his wife. Normally as well paid maids and servants. What better way to keep your marriage and the women you found attractive all in one place?

According to him, it didn’t sound nearly as insane as his wife’s sadistic streak of kidnapping young men from the streets to play with as her one-way lovers. A way to cope with the sadistic desires from his wife, or did he enjoy it too much to take much of an issue with her actions? Who knew. As far as everyone else is concerned. Those men disappeared from the face of the earth.

Gone. Never to found again. Not even their loved ones ever knew what happened to them. But you did. Some of them died trying to escape. Mauled by vicious guard dogs on their front lawn or starved.

You still remember when your boss spanked you hard enough to make cum like crazy. Not that you could ever explore that side of you. Not like you ever could. Not with the parents you have. “Call me mummy.” she’d hiss into your ear as she’d finger your clit. Masterfully.

She knew your secret. The kind which could get you killed if the right kind of people knew about it. It’s how she kept you in check. The strangle hold on you was real. Even as Soap was forced to watch the same night, he was brought in to her estate.

A bisexual woman of your standing? You wouldn’t last a week by yourself. You didn’t want them to that secret. The other being shunned by the church you used to attend with your parents. The church disowned you and threatened your parents to urge them to do the same. When your parents refused because they didn’t trust what the church tried to say.

With your mother dead.

Your father lost to himself with the lust of women and greed of the green dollar bills.

Picking up a gun, learning how to shoot, learning how to intimidate, and learning to forgive yourself for hurting so damn much.

You were finally good at something.

Scared men paid more. Scared men didn’t argue. And scared men didn’t survive.

Those who crossed you wished they never saw you. Those who survived knew what kind of monster lurked beneath your eyes.

The most dangerous thing someone could be is a dangerous woman with nothing to lose and everything to gain. And you played up your dangerous look, and attitude to the absolute maximum. Unhinged in the ways you felt alive. Unhinged in ways men would be praised for. You didn’t need a mirror to know you looked every bit of the part of a dangerous gun slinging outlaw you made yourself into. Like you always wanted to be. Like you are meant to be.

A cold-heart gunslinger because otherwise you would have been dead years ago. How your trench coat bellowed and how your bandana remained firmly on the lower half of your face. Hiding your identity. Keeping others from trying to find you or tracking you down. Covering your mouth in the covers of darkness. Either way, it worked well for you.

The stallion you rode on while the carriage was getting repaired in the workshop just outside of town. The black horse, a symbol of your capabilities and tenacious spirit. The woman you served had the audacity to still call herself, ‘Lady of the Sapphire Manor’.

You weren’t like her. You were never like her. Never fed into someone’s desire for company like she did with you.

The same manor is technically yours by all rights and reason in terms of inheriting after your mother passed on. It was little to no wonder as to who should own that manor.

Your father was the first person you murdered. Tied him up on a wooden chair in the backyard, stacking every portrait containing his likeness painted or printed onto them into a bonfire formation. Piling them up around him like a final act of self realisation. He was asleep until you poured that gasoline over him.

The cold, biting, gasoline-soaked person who gave you life as Soap watched from the balcony in the second story of the manor. Soap saw you getting ready to murder your father in cold blood. This wasn't any old stranger you could emotionally detach yourself from. This was your bloodline.

You didn’t blink.

You didn’t flinch.

Looking over to the woman in the balcony for approval. Her approval. ‘It’s like she needs it, like she craves it, to be owned completely instead of wandering around and wondering if you’ll ever fit anywhere.’ Soap pondered watching this as he remained tied up in his wooden chair.

The match flicked to the match box, the fire burning the match stick to the gasoline covered man. As his pleas for mercy were ignored, as his screams splitting the night sky as the flames licked his flesh until he was nothing but burned flesh and bone. The flames reflected in your eyes. It’s clear kidnapping, keeping people hostage, tormenting hostages weren’t enough anymore.

You’re no longer satisfied with small amounts of murder, mayhem, chaos, and pain. You wanted Soap to see the real thing. To smell the burning flesh from people who were the real monsters in the world, and you wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw everything.

He wasn’t like the rest. He didn’t belong in your world. Just like you didn’t belong in his. You have a part to play. You played it so well.

A monster. A terrible beast. Unloved and unlovable. You had to play the role of the monster to survive.

Soap found him high as a kite walking to his lovers without his pants on with only fifty dollars to his name. Pockets full of opium. No memory of how he got inside the manor. Plenty of memories of all the horrors lying inside the depth of Sapphire Manor. Inflicted by you for the amusement of ‘The Lady’.

“We’re dead price. DEAD long before we knew she existed. You don’t see it. You’ll never see it. I have seen it. We’re dead.” his nonsenual muttering as Soap gripped his face, rocking him side to side like they were in some kind of long term hospice centre on giant wheels. Too afraid to stop moving in the case, he heard the screams of the man he watched burn to death come back.

“She killed her father Price. She turned him into a human bonfire and watched him burn.” Soap continued to blabber on and on.

This all happened in a matter of four days and five nights. Breaking him until he couldn’t trust what he saw in the dark. Always checking to see if you were standing in the darkness. Checking outside his window every five minutes, sometimes hallucinating you were standing outside.

You were never physically there. You haven’t been since you left him in the middle of town to walk home alone. Likewise, you weren’t a babysitter and you got what you wanted from him. An excuse to get more from your boss. A pay raise.

Torture isn’t a one shoe fits all scenario. It is usually tailored to the individual targeted. But somehow your methods were brutal enough to break every man The Lady held within Sapphire Manor. The letter you had left in his pants that you gave through the mail slot.

‘The lady holds no interest in a man who's lost his wits, Soap. Perhaps it's time for you to leave us. I return you to your ‘family’ what ever that is. Lest this be a reminder to keep your nose out of her opium business and shove off elsewhere.

You turned him into a broken man. Like you have done so many times before with so many other men. A master of torture. A musician in the realm of pain, fear, and madness. You weave it well. You play with it like an artist who poked and prodded, working with your clay. Moulding people over and over. Swimming in the sea of your seemingly eternal madness.

Taxidermy people sitting in various rooms, permanently frozen in their state of distress, stuffed and poised like hunters did with their animal trophies. Redesigned, redressed and posed in ways you wanted them to look. Another thing, The Lady took pride in her home. People would assume they were fake and none the wiser. Unless they knew of the method of how they came to be. They will never know the gruesome side.

Your methods of torture evolve after each ‘failure’ finding what works and what needed to be changed. The opium haze of your victims made them easier for them to ply the information from their lips, easier for you to manipulate. You weren’t always so good at this, your first attempts were clumsy and lacked finesse, but with each soul you crushed, each man you bent to her will, you grew more adept, more skilled, more terrifying.

When it came to dosing them with morphine on the second day? The effect of the morphine made them susceptible to suggestion, one tool of many you used to help get you what you wanted from them. You didn’t have to get to the actual torture if they gave you what you wanted. Gentle whispered promises to stop if they talked.

Was it really so hard to imagine soap gave in so quickly?

You didn’t even need to get your hands dirty with the actual torture.

Who knew imagery of darkness, formed and sculpted by your own hand, was enough to break people?

Price shouldn’t blame him from folding so quickly. If you call being stuck there for four days and five nights relatively quick. Which, in terms of torture?

It was a record.

The only one who went mad in such a short time. A sick, twisted form of pride gurgled inside you. Chewing at the leftover rage you kept in the furnace called your brain.

The Lady had eyes everywhere in her manor, and you were just one set of eyes under her service. A gatekeeper. The one who decided who kept their sanity or not. If they even got to see the light of day again, that is.

What you are now? He wouldn’t have guessed you would have become. He would have called anyone mad for thinking this would have happened anyway. That you were doomed from the start.

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sluts4matt · 6 months ago

Text

PARTY

pairing: soft!dom matt x mixed!reader

summary: after a long week, you intended on staying home and relaxing. your roommate; however, had different plans dragging you to a close friend's party.

warnings: SMUT, use of weed, nic, and alcohol, p in v, teasing, light choking, pet names (princess), orgasm denial, praising, slight embarrassment kink? (i think)

word count: 3074

authors note: i feel like this is kind of all over the place, i apologize, i haven't written in like a good month or two. not proofread or edited.

it had been a long day, work not going so greatly. that's why as soon as you walked through your apartment door you had greeted your roommate then went to your bedroom, pulling out a pre roll from your nightstand drawer.

you sighed, laying on your back, looking up at the ceiling, lighting the end, then inhaling deeply. the smoke left your lips, your eyes blinking a few times. you jumped at the quiet knock on your bedroom door, coughing slightly.

"it's open," you say. the door opened revealing your roommate naya, her red curls up in a messy pony tail. "bad day at work?" she asked, joining you on your bed.

you passed the joint over to her, which she accepted with a smile bringing it to her lips. "some chick ordered a triple shot expresso with caramel and white chocolate syrup, had me put caramel drizzle on top right?" you start and she nods.

"i repeat her order, she looks at the screen she's goes, yep looks good. then i go to give her the drink and she goes-" you take a breath before talking in a slightly snobby tone, "-'this isn't what i ordered, i need this remade right now' i looked at like, are you fucking serious right now?"

naya started laughing, passing the joint back. "so did you remake her drink?" she asks, "yeah, after arguing with her for ten minutes." you both laugh. "god, i hate being a barista sometimes," you state.

"wanna go to austin's party to take your mind off of work?" she asks. "i dunno, nay. i'm not in the mood to deal with drunks and people trying to make a move on me." you say. "then just stay next to aria the whole time, guys don't really approach her. come on please," she gave you puppy dog eyes, her bottom lip jutting out as she clasped her hands together.

"when was the last time you went to a party?" she asks, you think for a moment. "um, the one josh threw at the frat house that you brought me to." naya giggles, grabbing your hand, "sweety... i'm gonna hold your hand when i say this, that was almost six months ago." you snatch your hand away, giving her an annoyed look.

"that's a lie, we were at a party for channing's birthday two months ago." you defend, "birthday party's don't count, neither do family reunions or get togethers," she points out.

"oh god fine," you sigh. naya squeals, wrapping her arms around your waist. "oh my god thank you!" she says excitedly, "okay go, we gotta get ready," you say, shooing her away. she sticks her tongue out, getting up and walking out.

you stand up, going to your closet to pick your outfit out. once you find your clothes you put on your shower cap and hop in the shower, washing your body. after you're finished you wrap a towel around your body, going back to your room to get dressed.

you slip on the outfit, pairing it with a pair of black thigh high socks and some black mary janes. you take a comb through your hair, getting out most of the knots. naya knocks on your door as you go to apply your eyeliner, "come in."

she opens the door, she had put on a pink crop top and high waisted jeans, she had her hair down and her curls were bouncy. she was holding her black boots, "i'm stealing some of your eyeliner, can't find mine and lord knows you have enough."

"okay," you mumble, consentraiting. she walks up, opening the drawer and grabbing one of the many felt tip liners you had. she sat on the floor, looking into her phone camera, as she applied the eyeliner.

you grab a pink lip liner from your drawer, lining your lips before putting some lipgloss over them. you smack your lips together, to coat the two evenly, smiling at yourself when you were done. you pulled the look together with a pair of hooped earrings, grabbing your silver side bag.

"let's go!" naya says excitedly, grabbing your hand and leading you out the door.

the two of you hopped into the uber that she had scheduled while the two of you were getting ready. the car ride was filled with naya talking about the cute boy who works at the grocery store near the apartment.

"like, i didn't realize how much i liked green eyes until i saw his, they're like emeralds, really they are," she swoons, you chuckle, shaking your head.

"we're here," the uber driver states. you open the car door, walking in. "the party's here," she states loudly, gaining the attention of austin talking to a group of three boys who all looked relatively the same.

he looked over, smiling widely, waving his hand in a motion to come over. "omg, i'm glad you guys' could make it," he says, sporting a glittery sheer top and sparkly silver eyeshadow.

"i'm not sure how long we're staying, we're just stopping by for a little bit," you say, austin gives you a fake pout. "no fun, excuse us," he states to the three boys dragging you and naya to the open bar.

"lets take shots," he says, naya eagerly nodding her head as he grabs a tray with glittery shots on it. "i'm good," you say. "no, sweetheart, we're doing shots," he says, pushing one towards you.

"fine," you mutter, picking the shot glass up. "on the count of three," he says, "one, two, three," the three of you all bring the shot glass to your lips, downing the shot. the liquid burned as it went down your throat. you shook your head slightly, "rookie," naya giggled.

"i'm gonna go find aria, don't die," you say, "have fun!" austin and naya shout after you. you weave through the crowd, looking for a head of pink and black striped hair. you bumped into someone, stumbling slightly, "sorry," he mumbles as you look up.

it was one of the guys austin had been talking to when you and naya first got there. you smiled slightly, "all good, it was my fault anyways, wasn't paying attention," you state.

"matt," he says, sticking his hand out, you smile slightly, taking his hand, "y/n," you state, shaking his hand. "are you looking for someone?" he asks. "uh yeah, aria?" you ask, he looks at you slightly confused, tilting his head slightly. "shorter then me, black and pink hair," you describe, "tattoos, like, everywhere except her neck and face?" you ask.

"oh! she's over there talking to chris," he points to the back of the room. "thanks," you say, going the direction he pointed to. you pushed past people, finally finding the short girl.

"hi!" you shout, the two turn to look at you, "there you are," aria states. "who's this?" chris asks, "my wife," she states loudly, he chuckles but looks slightly confused. "you wouldn't get it," she explains.

"you okay?" she asks, "yeah, fine, just need to take the edge off, i guess," you sigh. she pulls out a pre rolled blunt, lighter and a vape. "i love you," you sigh, taking the strawberry kiwi vape from her acrylics.

she hands the lighter to chris, "light," he does as she asks, bringing the lighter to the blunt that was between her lip. she inhaled, holding it in for a moment, then blowing it out. she passed it to you, earning a smile from you.

"work fucking sucks, why'd you quit," you playfully whine, a pout on your lips as your bring the blunt your lips. "because i would have ended up hitting that bitch of a manager," she states. you exhale the smoke, handing it back to her.

"she's not that bad anymore," you state, "i call bullshit," aria says. the three of you stood, smoking as people pushed past. "i'm gonna go find matt," chris says, "okay," the two of you respond in unison, causing you and aria to break out into a fit of laughter.

"god, i can't believe it's been six months since i worked at that hell hole," she states. "yeah fuck you," you giggle. you remember the day you had met aria, you were both just starting at the local cafe, quickly bonding over the fact that you two were the newbies.

after working together for a couple of months, she had introduced you to austin. austin then introduced you to naya, who quickly became your roommate. the four of you had grown quite close, always spending time with each other.

"lets go dance," she squeals, dragging you towards the center. the two of you began swaying and jumping, the music blasting through the speakers. chris had joined soon after, dragging matt with him. you giggled at the brunette haired by slightly watching his attempt to move his hips to the beat.

"white boys got no rythum," aria states, her hips swaying. "no shit," chris says, moving his shoulders. "oh god," you and aria giggle, shaking your heads at their terrible attempts at dancing.

"like this," aria instructs, her hips moving as her hands run over her body. you do the same, letting the music take over your body. the two of you danced like no one was watching, not that you cared.

the music was blasting and the air was heavy, the room smelled like alcohol and sweat, but at this point you didn't care, you were having too much fun.

you jumped slightly when you felt a pair of hands being softly placed on your hips, "is this okay?" matt whispers, his breath fanning your shoulder blade. you nod, leaning back, placing your hand behind his head, playing with the strands. you felt his thumb slowly moving in circles, causing your heart to speed up.

when you look towards aria, you see her arms wrapped around chris as she giggles at something he had said. the two were in their own little world, the rest of the party seeming to disappear.

your hand raked through matt's hair softly as you moved your hips, feeling his grip tighten. you bite your lip, "so," you state, "how'd you get roped into this party?"

"nick and chris, glad i let them rope me in though," he mumbled. "why's that?" you ask, looking down slightly. "because then i would have missed this," his breath tickling your neck.

you felt your cheeks heat up slightly, your head slightly tilting involuntarily. his lips gently brushed against the crook of your neck, leaving feather like kisses. your breath hitches slightly, closing your eyes.

"come on," he says, pulling back taking your hand as he leads you out the front door to his car. "get in," he says, opening the passenger door. "what are we doing?" you ask, slightly out of breath.

"star gazing," he says, putting the car in reverse and backing out of austin's driveway before putting it in drive and driving it to one of the parks that wasn't visited very often. "actually?" you ask, slightly hoping he wasn't serious about star gazing.

"do you not want to?" he teases, parking the car. he looks over at you tilting his head, one of his hands still on the wheel. you raise an eyebrow at the boy you've known barely two hours, your arms crossing. "what?" he asks, his tone playful.

"you know what," you state. "no, i don't, maybe you should tell me," he says, a small smirk spreading across his face. your eyes narrowed, your thighs squeezing together.

"oh?," he states, his head cocking to the side. his hand finds its way to the side of his seat, sliding it back. "well what do you want to do then princess?" he asks, his arm going behind your seat, turning his body so that his body was facing yours.

your mouth gaped open slightly, not knowing how to respond to the sudden change in attitude. "come on, words," he chuckles, his lips curling into a slight smirk.

"i-," you pause, not knowing what you were about to say. "yes?" he questions, his arm resting on the back of the chair. "i um," you mutter, looking at him with big eyes. "kiss me," you whisper, biting your lip.

"good girl," he praises, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. he pulls you in, his lips brushing against yours, causing butterflies to fill your stomach. his lips molded to yours perfectly, moving in sync.

his lips were soft and warm, your lips parted slightly, allowing his tongue entrance. his hand moves down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around. his other hand moves to your hip, guiding you over the center console to his lap.

your hands run through his hair, tugging lightly, causing him to moan slightly. you feel him buck his hips slightly, pushing up into the thin fabric of your underwear. you gasp slightly, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue in.

you feel him smirk slightly, his hand leaving your throat, traveling to each of your shoulders. his fingers slipping the thin straps down your shoulders. his lips leave yours, kissing down your neck, causing you to tilt your head slightly.

"so pretty," he mutters, his hands pushing the fabric down your chest. his head dips, his tongue swirling around your nipple. your breath hitches, your hand moving to his hair, your fingers threading through.

he groans slightly, his hips pushing up into you. "matt," you breathe, his teeth grazing your nipple. you feel him smile against your skin, his fingers tweaking your other nipple.

"fuck," you whine, tugging at his hair. "you want more?" he asks, his hand sliding up your leg to the bottom of your skirt. "yes, please," you whine. his hand slides up your skirt, his fingers pushing aside the fabric of your underwear.

his finger traces your clit, teasing you. your thighs shake slightly, causing him to chuckle, "desperate." you roll your eyes, your fingers tightening their grip on his hair. his hand wraps around your throat, the metal of his rings cold against your neck as he squeezes lightly.

"be nice," he whispers, his finger slowly circling your clit. "or what?" you challenge, his eyes narrow. his fingers speed up, a breathy moan leaving your lips. his fingers work you, making your eyes roll back.

"matt," you whine, pushing yourself down onto his fingers, "fuck," you whisper. his fingers continue working your clit, your breathing becoming uneven.

"you close?" he asks, his voice laced with lust. you nod quickly, your hips rolling. his fingers slow, stopping right before you reach your high. "no, no, please," you whine, your hips bucking.

"awe, does someone not like the consequences of their own actions?" the boy mocks, his hand still holding your throat. "no, please," you whine, looking at him with pleading eyes.

"you think just because you give me the puppy dog eyes i'll give you what you want?" he chuckles, jokingly bouncing your body. you nod your head, a pout forming on your lips. "please," you whimper, your hips trying to push into his hand.

"begging, pretty," he smirks, his fingers starting to circle again. you whine, the coil in your stomach tightening. his fingers speed up, pushing you barely over the edge before stopping again.

"matt, no," you whine, his hand moving from your neck to your shoulder. he pushes you backwards, your back hitting the steering wheel. his hands go to the button on his pants, undoing it before unzipping them. he lifts his hips from the seat slightly, pushing them down to his knees.

his boxers were a light grey, a slight wet spot showing on the front. he palms himself through the fabric, moaning quietly. his other hand goes to your waist, moving your body so that you were directly over him. he pushes his boxers down, moving the fabric of your soaked panties to the side.

he pushes the tip in, moaning. you whine, feeling his grip on your waist tighten as he pulls your body down. "fuck," he curses, his head falling back. your hand grips the back of his seat, his length filling you.

you start to move your hips slowly, moaning softly. his fingers dig into your hips, helping guide your movements. his hips thrust upwards, meeting your slow pace.

"god, you're so pretty," he mumbles, his head tilting up to look at you. his thumb moves down to your clit, rubbing fast circles. your head tilts back, "fuck, i'm gonna cum." "not yet pretty girl," he says denying you, once again.

your hand moves to the top of the seat, the other gripping his shoulder as your hips begin to stutter. "matt, i can't," you whine. "hold on for me, your doing such a good job," he whispers, his hand leaving your hip, tangling itself in your hair.

"fuck, you feel so good," he moans, his hips picking up their pace, slamming up into you. the windows had fogged up, the air in the car humid. he brings your lips down to his, kissing you harshly. his tongue slips into your mouth, his teeth lightly pulling on your bottom lip.

"cum," he states, his thumb moving faster on your clit. the coil in your stomach snapped, causing you to let out a moan, pulling away from his lips as you buried your face in his neck. his hips slammed up into you a few more times before he pulled out, jacking himself off, his cum spilling on your thigh.

"fuck," he whispers, his chest rising and falling. "fuck," he repeats, reaching over to grab a napkin from the glove box. "shit," he mumbles, wiping the cum off of your thigh, throwing it in the backseat.

he lifts you up slightly, pulling his boxers and pants up. he grabs another napkin, cleaning in between your thighs, throwing it in the back.

"did you have fun?" he asks, looking up at you. you giggle, nodding, "yeah?" he asks. "do you want food?" he asks, your head tilting slightly. "what?" he asks, chuckling, "like, did you want to get food, or would you like me to take you home," he clarifies.

"i could go for a burger," you state. "burger king or five guys?" he asks, "five guys," you respond. he smiles, fixing the strap of your top before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

tag list:

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enormities-writes · 12 days ago

Text

Is it Love or Hate? | Penelope Garcia x Gn!Reader

Summary: Reader thinks Penelope hates them. Will a Christmas party change their mind?

Warnings: 3rd POV, not proof read, kissing, Penelope doubting herself, probably ooc everyone tbh, Penelope and Spencer being the besties they are, reader is smart

Words: 3074

Masterlist

Please do not copy or translate any of my work. Thank you!

--------------------

You started working at the BAU just a few months ago and had felt a kind, welcoming connection with everyone (even if Hotch is a bit scary).

But Penelope always seems not to want to talk to you. Always looks the other way and finds excuses to leave the room when you enter, leaving a cold and awkward air behind her.

At first, you thought maybe she was just stressed or nervous about a new face on the team but the more time you spent at work, the more it seemed like that wasn't the case.

It made you feel so defeated and upset because the instant you laid eyes on her, you thought she was amazing. Her hair was swooshing around her shoulders, a brightly colored plastic accessory pinned to her bangs. A cute, soft cardigan warmed her arms as an adorable dress adorned her body below it.

Gorgeous, funny, goofy, nerdy, smart, her whole personality was just warm and wholeheartedly kind.

Except for how she acted around you.

For some reason, she can barely stand the sight of you. At least that's what it felt like. So harboring a crush on someone who basically hates your guts doesn't feel too good, believe it or not.

“I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, JJ,” You say, groaning exasperatedly, tilting your head back to look up at the ceiling in defeat and frustration. “You’ve done nothing wrong!” Her high-pitched voice fills the air of the meeting room, a warm hand being placed on your shoulder.

You sit up and spin in your chair once she withdraws her hand. “I must’ve done something! She's so nice to everyone but avoids me like the plague.”

“You’re misreading the situation. She doesn't hate you.” JJ sighs as if she’s talking to a child that she just put in timeout, shaking her head, her straight honey-blonde hair swaying in the air.

“What could I possibly be misreading? Her body language is always closed off when I’m around. Crossed arms, turning away, tensed muscles. Not to mention increased heart rate, strained voice if she even decides to speak, dilated pupils, shall I go on?”

JJ sighs, her head tilting to the side as she crosses her arms. You see Reid's crisp button-up as he passes by the door, his soft brown hair bouncing as he walks. “Whoever you’re talking about, it sounds like they have a crush”

His voice is highly analytical and precise as if he were solving a complex case. “Wait, what?” You call out, sitting up straight in the office chair, pointing your body towards the door, eyebrows furrowed together as your brain races with possibilities and answers to unanswered questions.

Reid pivots on his feet, coming back into the frame to accentuate his point. “Well, increased heart rate, strained voice, and dilated pupils are all signs of attraction. Actually, The National Library of Medicine did a study on it. Physical features, such as pupil size, gaze directionality, eye color, facial symmetry, and nonverbal displays, are encoded by human minds.. Um yes, it- it sounds like they have a crush.”

Reid stops himself short of a tangent of some study about behavioral science that he surely has memorized all the words of.

You blink, shaking your head. “Ya know, usually Reid, I would thank you for being a human Google Search but there's no way Penelope is attracted to me.” You awkwardly chuckle, mind racing a mile a minute.

Spencer goes stiff at the information that they're talking about Penelope. He tightens his fingers around his coffee mug a little tighter, his skin taking on a whiter yellow-y color. His posture a little straighter, his eyes a little wider as he gulps down the saliva in his mouth nervously.

“Spencer? What is it?” You ask, picking up on the difference in his demeanor.

“W-What? Oh, It’s nothing. I just didn't know w- we- we were talking about her. So it’s probably not attraction. Not- not that she hates you or anything of course! An-anyways, I have some paperwork to get to so..” He tails off, slowly but briskly leaving the doorway.

Me and JJ stay silent for a second, staring at the doorway where Spencer once stood before slowly turning to each other.

“That was weird.” JJ's eyebrows are furrowed, her mouth open so her lips have a little gap between them, a blank and confused expression on her face.

You both get up to go to our desks, the warm lights of the stringed bulbs that are hanging in the main area shining in our eyes. The whole BAU was decorated to the nines for Christmas, with lights and tinsel every which way.

You plop down at your desk and start on a stack of paperwork. You take a pen out of your cup full of them, hearing the tink of it hitting the surface. You press the small button at the top of it to make the pen tip come out with a mechanical click as your eyes see Spencer walk out of Penelope's bat cave with an anxious and regretful look on his face.

Deciding to overthink that tad bit of information later, you get started on the migraine-inducing stack of paper.

After hours of coffee, computers, paperwork, and thinking, Hotch walks into the main area. “Go home early, everyone. The parties tomorrow.” He announces, referring to the Christmas party at Rossi's house tomorrow night and not bothering to mention the few days of work you guys have off. Without further thought, he walks back into his office and begins to clean up his desk.

Finishing up on writing the last paragraph down, JJ passes by, being seen in the peripheral of your vision. “Hey, do you wanna get some dinner?” You decide to call out, barely glancing up from the last sentence.

“I can’t, I'm too tired. I’m probably going to go home, put something in the microwave, and pass out.” She shrugs, her eyes tired and almost defeated.

“No worries, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Bye!”

You finish your work and grab your bag, making your way to the elevator. You see the doors closing, only a foot away from each other, inching closed. “Wait, hold it please!” You shout, jogging towards the big metal doors.

A manicured hand stretches out, wedging itself between the shiny doors. They retreat from their path, sliding into the open position.

You huff, sliding into the elevator, the doors shutting seconds after you do. Penelope stands, wide-eyed, realizing who she is holding the door for.

“Oh, hi.” You swallow, trying to make the space a little less awkward with a little bit of small talk. Instead of replying, she just nods, redirecting her head to look straight forward, inwardly praying for the elevator to move as fast as possible.

You take a breath, letting the silence sit for a moment before you look over at her. Her hair is curled, pretty waves cascading over her shoulders as red and green hair accessories pin her hair back on either side.

“I love your dress.” You decide complimenting her is probably the best course of action. It might make her a bit more relaxed, more at ease.

Instead, it only seems to make her more nervous. She bites her lip, her posture stiffening as if she is the most uncomfortable she’s ever been in her life. “Thanks” The words almost sound choked as they leave her mouth.

The second the elevator doors open, she's hurrying out of the building, speed walking as fast as she can to get out of the clear doors to the street outside.

You sigh. No matter how hard you try to be friendly and make her feel more welcome, she always seems like you're contagious or something. A ball forms at the back of your throat and you clear it as you make your way out of the building, saying goodbye to the receptionist and wishing him a happy holiday.

The next day you take it slow, sleeping in and making easy food before starting to get ready way before the actual event, not wanting to rush anything. You know it's probably fruitful but you decide to dress your best, doing everything you can to look as good as possible.

In the back of your head, you think of scenarios where Penelope compliments you, saying you look cute. How you’d all of a sudden hit it off and you’d ask her out on a date and she’d be overjoyed at the idea, a blush highlighting her cheeks.

But at the end of the day, you also know that theres no way that would ever happen. She would never compliment you, much less talk to you on her own free volition.

She’d most likely ignore you all night if nothing else.

And you tried not to think about that too hard. You didn’t want to be depressed today of all days. You didn't want to feel bad about yourself. And so, you put on your very best clothes in hopes that it will make you feel better and that the party will go better than planned. You lied to yourself.

That night you made your way to Rossis, and when he opened the door for you, you were quickly welcomed into his lavish home. High ceilings, expensive furnishings and appliances, and when you followed him into his living room, one of the largest Christmas trees you’ve ever seen in your life was on display.

The team seemed happy, carefree, and relaxed. You wander over and join the lively conversation. You talk adamantly about random topics, funny stories, jokes, and past jobs.

“Jesus, you look amazing!” JJ brings you into a tight hug, a big beautiful grin gracing her face. She squeezes you, her hand rubbing your back for a few seconds before she pulls back, looking at you, her eyes scanning your face like she was trying to see all the detail and hard work you put in tonight.

Looking to your left for a split second, you spot Penelope, looking as gorgeous as always. Her face is pulled up into a smile as she hits Morgan's arm, responding to some retort he just called out.

She still has her coat on over the dress she's wearing but it all ties in perfectly. The way her hair is done expertly and the way her glasses frame her eyes, almost showcasing the beautiful color.

Her cheeks lift again to laugh, adorable little creases forming around her mouth, her eyes almost closing at how hard the joy takes over her face. Her hair swooshes with the movement of the vibration of the laugh, her shoulders rocking.

“You did this for her, huh?” You snap your head back at JJ, her voice knocking you out of you staring.

Her facial expression is knowing, almost scolding as she squints her eyes at you.

“No.” It sounds unconvincing, even to your ears. You cross your arms as JJ tilts her head with an eyebrow raised, a silent question on if you’re really trying to lie to the both of you.

“..Maybe.”

JJ shakes her head knowingly but says nothing, a quiet conversation being noted between the two of you.

The night goes on as everyone has fun. But miraculously, every time you and Penelope are in the same conversation, she manages to slip away. Deciding to give up, you decide to head to the restroom, only to find a small queue has formed.

Someone is in it, the door shut and locked as no one other than Penelope is waiting for it to open. You awkwardly clear your throat, deciding to lean on the wall across from her silently to wait for the bathroom.

The silence is palpable, the stench of it filling the air, making the oxygen almost thick. The blank sound lingers, a contrast to the lively music and talking faintly heard from the main part of the house.

You heave a sigh, not knowing what to do, your mind grasping at ways to ease the tension. “You look great.” You decide to give her a compliment to which she gives a halfhearted smile.

“Thanks.”

She looks away, obviously trying to not engage in conversation. The pit at the back of your throat starts forming again and maybe you’ve drank too much champagne so your next words are completely unfiltered.

“Why do you hate me?” The words come off as exasperated and almost meek, like you're grasping at straws but you couldn't care less right now. The words have always been at the back of your head but the nerve to ask such a thing has never presented itself. And if it has, you chicken out immediately.

Her head whips back to you. “What?” Her eyebrows are furrowed, and her eyes wide, surprise evident in her features.

“What have I done wrong? Is there something I can do? Is there something I need to apologize for?”

“What? Of course not.” Her answer is immediate. Like the answer to your question was a no-brainer. You step a little closer.

“Then why do you never talk to me? Or leave the room when I enter? Or act as if I don’t even exist? Or when you do, act as if I’m contagious?” The words fly out of your mouth like word vomit. But It’s not as if you’re not telling the truth about how you feel. On how her actions affect you.

“I just-” She cuts herself off, being caught in a corner by your words.

“Just what? Why do you have such disdain for me?”

“I don’t I just-”

“Then why?”

You pester her, wanting the answers to your questions, the conversation became slightly heated, the back and forth becoming faster.

“I don't, I just have a crush on you!” The words spill over. Her eyes go wide as she hears them slip past her lips.

There's a beat of silence, the words soaking into each of your brains.

“What?” The words are soft as they come out, confusion evident in their tone.

“Just forget I said anything. Ya know what? I’m sure Derek-” Before she can figure out a way to escape the situation, you step closer, slightly crowding her space. Her eyes frantically search down the hallway, hoping for someone to walk by or for an out to this.

“Wait no, you like me?”

At the confrontation, she turns mousy. Her head ducks down and her voice cuts off. Both of your hearts are beating in your ears, afraid the other can hear it.

Your mouth involuntarily breaks into a small smile. There's no way she feels the same about you. Every situation from the past few months flashes in your mind. She has such a big crush that she has had to leave rooms and try to mask her flushed cheeks and flustered expression. She's been forced to look away and not talk to you, afraid you’ll pick up on her feelings.

“Jesus Christ, you really had me scared that you hated my guts. Fuck, I think you’re amazing, Penelope.” You step a little closer, both underneath the closed doorway to the bathroom.

Her glassy eyes look up at you from their place transfixed on the floor. In those Irises hold amazement. Doubt. Shock.

“What?” Her mind's going a mile a minute. There's no way that you could like her like that. She goes through all her flaws and all her quirks.

The fact that she plays MMORPGs, her love for fashion, the small trinkets she puts at her desk, and her personality is less than conventional. I mean, no one likes her. Right?

(for people who don’t know or don’t understand what that means: Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games. Think of things like World Of Warcraft, Runescape, Final Fantasy 14, things like that)

“Penelope, I think you're perfect. I mean, how could I not? You're smart, funny, charming, quirky, bubbly, beautiful. I’m just surprised you like me.”

It’s her turn to be bewildered. “Of course I like you” She breathes a deep breath, realizing that you don’t see her “faults”. Well you do, but you see them as good things. You see them as cute little puzzle pieces that fit together to get her.

Her eyes glance up, a tiny plant being held up by a ribbon hanging in the frame of the tall door. Your eyes follow hers, seeing a little mistletoe above your heads.

Building up the courage, your eyes travel down to her. Swallowing, you say tentatively, “Can I kiss you, Penelope.”

Her eyes are big like a puppy, looking at you as if you're just a dream. Her head jostles as she nods a silent yes.

Your lips meet gently, the soft skin pressing to each other. The simple touch feels like it puts air into your lungs, like it’s your first time truly breathing. And when you go to pull away, your eyes open a sliver and colors seem brighter than before and sounds feel clearer.

Her head tilts towards yours and she quickly reconnects your lips, your eyelids slipping closed once more. And this time, everything fades out but her. Her soft hands reach to your jawline, her soft lips caressing yours.

Her dress is soft in your hands and you bring them up to her sides. Her perfume was in the air, wafting delightfully around her. The way she moves her lips against yours; anxious but yearning and loving. Warm.

Your brain swims with thoughts of her. As if you two were the only things that existed, before a throat clearing pulls your lips away from each other, eyes opening and looking over to the cause of the sound.

Only to find Spencer scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll just uh, sorry.” He tensely slips between you two, speed-walking down the hallway. As you hear his footsteps recede, he pops his head back into view from the corner he turned. “Congrats.” Before he ducks his head, escaping the scene.

Penelope giggles, a hand coming up to go in front of her mouth to contain them. You turn your head her way, a laugh escaping your own lips.

With the warm feeling still in your stomach, you smile as you ask, “Penelope, would you like to go on a date with me?”

Your question is answered immediately with a bashful expression. “Yes”

#x reader #fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #fanfic #penelope garcia x reader #penelope garcia #gender neutral reader

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